Chapter Text
The Grangers welcomed Hermione and her best friend home for summer break with open arms. They seemed less sure what to think of their unexpected companion, but they were just as warm and welcoming to Gilderoy Lockhart.
"My, what a lovely home," Gilderoy was saying, before alighting upon what Draco too had initially found the place's chief attraction. "And Draco told me about this. It's a sort of- er- shrine to Hermione. How charming." He regarded the display full of pictures of Hermione at various ages with the understanding of a man who had once surrounded himself with pictures of himself.
Hermione groaned while her parents tittered. "For the last time," she complained, "It's not a shrine!"
"You like to tease our girl, don't you," Mr. Granger said amusedly. "It's wonderful to have you here, Draco. I take it you'll be in London for the summer too, with your uncles. Hopefully we can see some of you this summer."
"Of course," Draco lied brightly.
"And this is..." They finally turned with understandable confusion towards the rather outlandishly dressed grown man their daughter had brought home with her.
"Gilderoy Lockhart," Gilderoy said brightly, shaking both of their hands vigorously, before remembering his cover story. "That is, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart. I'm a professor at Hogwarts. These two are some of my brightest pupils in, ah, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Just paying a house call, what? Making sure the, er, dark arts are adequately defended against in this domicile."
"Oh, is that a danger?" Mrs. Granger asked, sounding unconcerned.
"Constant vigilance," Draco offered helpfully.
The Grangers did not look as though they thought this long-haired customer in head-to-toe blue fur could defend against a dark hamster, but they were naturally kind enough not to say so. It might have been easier, what they were about to do, if the Grangers were not always so universally kind.
Gilderoy produced his wand, and made a show of waving it about in the air, presumably in the process of detecting dark magic. It was a reminder of the old Gilderoy who had been a Hogwarts professor, always shamming. But the sight of Gilderoy so much as getting out his wand seemed to set a chill through Hermione, who shrank back against Draco's side.
"We don't have to do this, you know," Draco whispered to her, words kept low by his face in her bushy hair. "We can still turn back. There have to be other ways to keep them safe, we just haven't thought of them..."
Hermione seemed tempted by his words for a moment, but then she squared her shoulders and straightened up. "No," she whispered back. "No, this is what we have to do."
"If you like, you can stay for dinner after, Professor... Lockhart," Mrs. Granger filled in after a bright-eyed Gilderoy provided the name. "We have a roast in the oven. Lamb, if you like it. We'd love to hear more about your job at Hogwarts. And I hope Draco will stay as well. You will, won't you, dear?"
"Plenty to talk about with the footy," Mr. Granger said excitedly. "It's been too long. Would love to pick your brain about the season we had with the Gunners."
"Of course," Draco said obligingly, and turned again to Hermione. She had scarcely moved a muscle since she first came in. "Shall we stay for dinner first?" he whispered. "There's no harm in that, if you like..." Hermione's face convulsed in barely concealed pain. "Or if you'd rather just get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid, we can do that too..."
"What are you two whispering about?" Mr. Granger asked fondly, without a hint of suspicion on his intelligent, honest face.
"Teenager things," Draco said lamely, and watched Hermione for any sign of what she'd prefer. For him, dragging it out seemed to make it worse, make it feel more of a betrayal. But Gilderoy, for one, was natural enough in the role now that he'd gotten into it, chattering with Mrs. Granger about the origin of his Ravenclaw-blue furs. Draco supposed Gilderoy was the only one here with experience in this sort of thing.
"Let's..." Hermione shuddered. "Please, let's just get it over with."
"Gilderoy?" Draco called, and Gilderoy came back over to them, with a tension in the air that even Mr. and Mrs. Granger seemed to feel, glancing confusedly at each other. "Gilderoy, it's time."
"Oh, alright," Gilderoy said with a sigh, seeming of all things to have been enjoying himself, before turning on the two Muggles before him with an apologetic smile. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, thank you for your lovely hospitality. I regret to make one last imposition upon you." Mrs. Granger smiled quizzically as Gilderoy drew his wand again, but that was the extent of their resistance. "Obliviate!"
His hand drew the altered circle through the air with the ease of a master craftsman at his work. Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger were subject to its effortless glow, which threw them slightly backwards where they stood. Hermione let out a guilty cry and buried her face in Draco's shoulder. Draco took her by the hand and led her out of that forsaken house.
Hermione began to cry while they waited for Gilderoy to emerge, harsh heaving sobs that wracked her body. "He'll do a good job," Draco tried to reassure her, small comfort that must be. "He won't hurt them."
"What have I done," Hermione gasped, and Draco tentatively stroked at her thick hair. "What have I done..."
"Well!" Gilderoy exclaimed brightly as he left the Granger house, smile undented. "There we are. Rather more complex than my usual work, in truth, but no fear. They answered perfectly well to Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins. Wendell and Monica Wilkins. And I do believe their life's ambition is to move to Australia. They were quite enthusiastic on that front before I managed to make my exit. I-"
Gilderoy stopped his stream of patter at the sight of the state of Hermione. "Oh," he said nervously, never at his best in such situations. "Don't worry, Miss Granger, it should all be perfectly reversible."
"When the time comes," Draco said firmly. "When we've won this war."
"When we've won this war," Hermione repeated bleakly, pulling back from Draco and rubbing her eyes. She turned on Gilderoy with uncomfortable intensity. "And the Wilkins don't believe they have a daughter?"
"No," Gilderoy said quickly. "No, that's all gone, although there is the photographs... I would have altered them myself, but I'm used to working with wizarding photographs, so, er..."
"I'll do them," Hermione said resolutely, and made her way back inside her childhood home. They steered clear of the Wilkins as they made their way around the rooms, where Hermione skillfully removed herself from every photo. Some phantom wisp of hurt flashed over her face each time, but she was quick and otherwise unflinching, doing her job well.
They finally ended up at what Draco had always called the Hermione shrine, while in the distance, the Wilkinses pattered happily about the virtues of Australia over their lamb. Hermione was not slow to raise her wand and make her face vanish from every frame, one by one. Gilderoy finally seemed to feel the emotion of the moment, taking on a gloomy air as he watched her efface herself from her own history. "Oh my," Gilderoy said sadly. "I admire your fortitude, Miss Granger, I truly do."
"Thank you, Gilderoy," Hermione said, clearly meant as a dismissal, and Gilderoy backed off to give them space. She turned and whispered to Draco, "If we survive the hunt for the Horcruxes, we'll take Gilderoy and find Mum and Dad and make him lift the enchantment. And if I don't- well, it sounds like he's cast a good enough charm to keep them safe and happy. They won't miss their daughter." Grief threatened to creep into her voice by the end, but she had stopped crying.
She began to cry again once they returned to Xaphan, arriving by Apparition to the library tower where Gilderoy made his departure. Unfortunately, they had waiting for them a none-too-happy Severus Snape, who regarded them all balefully, but especially Gilderoy. "Where did you spirit yourself off to?" Severus said bitterly. "I have been waiting to consult with you on a matter of dungeon restoration for some time-" He broke off when he noticed Hermione's tears. "And what is the matter with her?"
"I, er, I can't tell you," Gilderoy said nervously, then flung his arms wide. "But I'm here now! Hello, Severus!"
"More secrets?" Severus said silkily. "You seemed to have retained a rare affinity for those, Gilderoy..."
"Well, welcome to Xaphan," Draco said with a sweeping gesture as he led Hermione away from the quarreling men, helping her carry her luggage as he did. It was, as usual, full enough with books to need several Featherlight charms to make that workable. "You'll find that's not an unusual sight," he said, gesturing back towards Severus and Gilderoy bickering. Personal tension, Draco thought in truth, but now was hardly the time to espouse upon his godfather's private life. Not that Severus particularly had one. "Let's get you settled in to Gryffindor."
"I want to go back to the library here, though," Hermione sniffled. "As soon as possible. I need to research..."
Everyone dealt with devastation in their own way, and it was better than it could have been, Hermione wanting to drown her grief in the dusty tomes of Xaphan. Draco didn't know how much she'd find on the Horcruxes in those. He didn't think Dantanian Black or Noir had held any involvement in Horcruxes. But far be it from him to stop her. He regarded her with an ache in his own chest for her suffering, and led her more quickly towards her new home.
At least Draco was no longer banned from this Gryffindor Tower.
Harry and Ron awaited them in the new empty common room. Hermione flung herself on her boyfriend, who led her away to comfort her in more privacy, upon which Draco saw fit to fling himself on his own boyfriend. "Lockhart doesn't know why?" was the first thing Harry asked him, tense with the need for secrecy.
"No," Draco sighed, grounding himself in Harry's Amortentia scent, in the solidness of those beloved arms. "Protection from the war made sense enough. Don't worry, no one knows about the Horcruxes apart from the four of us. No one else even knows we're leaving after Bill and Fleur's wedding."
Luna was living at Xaphan now, along with her father, the Weasleys, and the Sirius-Remus clan. It was no small accomplishment to have kept it from her. Draco resisted the usual impulse to suggest they tell her, but he knew that was a slippery slope, with her inevitable need to tell Neville and perhaps Ginny. Besides, it was a burden and a half to lay on Luna's younger shoulders, the very heart of the fight against Voldemort.
"Good," Harry exhaled. "Do you think Hermione's gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, she's tough," Draco said with full confidence, and tried to snuggle into Harry's lap more securely. Harry's mind seemed set, though, on more vital proceedings.
"Do you think we should leave sooner?" Harry asked anxiously. "There's so much at stake, and the sooner we begin the hunt, the sooner we might-"
"There's research to do," Draco reminded Harry gently, turning that agitated face towards his for a gentle kiss. "A lot of research, while we're still at Xaphan. This is the place to do it, without any chance at Hogwarts." The mention of the surrendered school put a discontented look on Harry's handsome face, just as any mention of the late Dumbledore did. "We're no closer to figuring out who RAB might be, for one. We need to search, but there's no point in searching blind..."
"I know, I know," Harry sighed, giving Draco a long kiss that made his mind turn away from Horcruxes for that moment entirely. "I just... I had a dream last night."
"A dream?" Draco said, pulling back more warily.
"I don't remember it very well," Harry said guardedly. "I don't know what to make of it. You're the first person I've told. I thought you deserved to hear it first, especially because... I know he turned against you in the end, but you were so close for so long..."
Draco's blood ran cold. "Harry, what are you talking about?"
"I dreamed of Voldemort," Harry sighed. "I think it was one of those dreams where I... saw inside his head. It wasn't much of a dream. It was just anger. So much anger. My scar hurt for a while after the dream." His hand went to touch it at the memory, and Draco suddenly found Harry's lap to be a very uncomfortable place to be sitting. "He was angry about Theodore Nott."
"Theo?" Draco breathed, a roaring in his ears he could hardly stifle. "What about Theo?"
"I think he just found out, or found out for sure," Harry said carefully, "That Theo is dead. Draco, I'm so sorry."
Draco forced a smile he feared must look ghastly on his face. "Don't be sorry. Whatever he used to be to me, he was my enemy now. If he's really dead, then that..." He had to force out each word individually. "That's good, isn't it? It makes me and everyone I care about safer."
"Draco," Harry said tenderly. "It's alright to be upset. I won't be jealous. Not now."
Draco's mind was racing, thinking he should be feigning more shock while finding himself unable to do so. "Do you know how he knew Theo was dead? Did they... did they find a body?" He'd used the Liquid Fiendfyre, after all...
"I don't know," Harry sighed, seeming to think Draco was grasping at straws to find it untrue. "But Draco, he seemed pretty sure. I really am sorry, dragon."
"No," Draco said, looking away from Harry. "It's a casualty of war, isn't it? And there's going to be a whole lot more people put in the ground before all this is through."
"I hope not," Harry sighed, and renewed his grip around Draco's waist. Draco tried not to shy away from his touch, with the cold infusing him of the memory of what he'd done. He wished he could have had Gilderoy remove that memory from his own head.
How very blissful it would be, not to know what he had done to Theodore Nott.
He had to face it in just the space of hours, though, when Harry saw fit to deliver the news of Theo's death like Voldemort's bloody news bulletin to the other students. They were all gathered in the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Draco sharing an armchair with Ron and Hermione each occupying their own. Luna and Ginny sprawled over the rug gossiping good-spiritedly about their respective significant others. Then Harry turned it all different by clearing his throat and delivering the news.
Hermione gasped, hands flying to her mouth with such violent shock, Ron reached over and gripped her arm comfortingly. Ron's face was a complicated mix of stricken and relieved, and Ginny's hardened, like she was determined to take anything that came with the war with toughness and grit. A second later, though, her face crumbled at the thought of another's grief. "Millie," Ginny breathed, "Oh, no, Millie is going to be heartbroken."
Draco felt his breath constrict and his place perched on Harry's chair rendered somehow precarious, the memory of swearing to Millie about Theo in the halls of Hogwarts surging up. The others might believe it- the Gryffindors- but would Millie ever believe Draco had nothing to do with it? Unless it somehow got spun maybe that Voldemort's anger was at Theo, rage enough to lash out and slaughter his young follower...
As for Luna, she was the picture of nondescript, shrinking away from Ginny's side and general view, her face studiedly blank. She clearly wanted to draw as little attention to herself as possible, and Draco's wracking guilt went that much worse at the reminder of the deception he had involved his cousin in. He reflexively palmed at the dagger in his pocket.
"Millie can deal with it," Ron said finally after a pause, with his characteristic tact. "Theodore Nott brought Death Eaters to Nurmengard to trap us. If you ask me, it serves him right-"
"Don't say that!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's not just Millie. Think how Draco must be feeling!" Even in her grief over what she'd had Gilderoy do to her parents, she still had the heart to think of Draco, who was so unworthy of it.
"He tried to have Draco killed, too," Ginny said, tilting her head. "I don't know if Draco's still holding onto any of the friendship there used to be there."
"He still used to be his friend," Hermione said firmly, "And we need to respect that." She got up, shaking off Ron's hand, and went over to give Draco a one-armed hug. "Grief doesn't have to be rational. And it needs to be felt. Whatever you're feeling, Draco, we're all here for you, I promise."
It was the moment, if there had ever been a moment. The time to come clean before all of them and let them know what he'd done. Maybe his guilt put the thought in his head, or maybe it was the sheer pressure of the secret held along with the conviction of his own impending death, but its weight seemed suddenly too much to bear. Draco could nearly feel the words on his tongue like a burden to be shaken off his overburdened shoulders, his and Luna's, the confession right there ready to come out and yet somehow as impossible as the Langlocked confession of his time travel.
Because what did he expect? Handshakes and congratulations? It was a terrible thing he'd done, even though a thing to keep the people before him safe. But he could hardly expect them to see him as anything but monstrous after doing that to someone who had, after all, just as Hermione said, used to be his friend.
Draco stayed silent, though he felt the breath on his neck of the secret, lingering there right at his back, stretching its dark poison tendrils towards reality, willing itself to be known. He could hope, he told himself, that he would die before the truth ever need be known. And that was a bargain he thought fair enough, since however grave his sins were, he did intend to die for them.
It was hard to dwell on the risk of discovery, with the amount of work Mrs. Weasley laid upon them in preparation for the wedding. The rest of the Order was in and out all the time, abuzz with business, but the students there were drafted as free labor for the festivities. Time went by quicker with the amount of work foisted upon them, advancing towards the date they had set for their departure. Hermione barely had time to spend with her books. She was still working hard, though, on which books to bring in her seemingly infinite bag space, and which to leave behind.
The new Gryffindor Tower at Xaphan had not yet been enchanted to prevent boys from going into the girls' dorms, so the three of them could go join Hermione there without sirens. Even on Harry's birthday, their bookworm was hard at work. They found her with two massive stacks of books atop her bed. One stack, presumably the no stack, was topped with Numerology and Grammatica, while the other had The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts at the top.
She had taken hold of all of their remaining books that hadn't been lost along with Hogwarts, along with a combination of the textbooks already bought in mass for Xaphan, books from Xaphan's library, and books she'd sent for herself. It was in truth the most concrete thing holding them back from starting off after the Horcruxes right away: Hermione's need for them to be supplied with sufficient books for the journey. Draco wished he knew from the blue loop just how vital, say, The Monster Book of Monsters was to Harry Potter's eventual victory.
"Hey, 'Mione," said Ron, and leaned in for a kiss. Hermione gave him a distracted one before returning to her piles.
"I brought you something," Draco offered, and offered his own contribution to the piles, his only book rescued from Hogwarts: Moste Dark Blood Rituals of the Demon Goddess Hecate. He had taken the liberty of removing the marker for Cadaunuptium. Hermione added it to the yes pile with a grim look but no questioning.
"Are we really going to need all these books, anyway?" Ron marveled, and Hermione leveled a stern look at him.
"Ronald," she said primly, "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."
"Of course," said Ron. "I forgot we'll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library."
Hermione gave Draco an incredulous look as he sniggered along with Ron. "You're the one who's been bringing me more!" she said accusingly, and Draco shrugged. Hermione's attention went back down to Spellman's Syllabary. "I wonder ... will we need to translate runes? It's possible... I think we'd better take it, to be safe." She put Hogwarts: A History in the yes pile with it, threatening a collapse of the pile's structural integrity. Harry shook his head fondly with a radiant smile. Draco gave him a quick kiss before returning his gaze to the matter at hand.
The days were dropping away, after all, before their departure was imminent. "We still have no idea," Draco said cautiously, "Where we're going with all these supplies once we leave."
"Godric's Hollow?" Harry offered tentatively.
"Don't you think there's a possibility that Voldemort's keeping a watch on Godric's Hollow?" Hermione interjected. "He might expect you to go back and visit your parents' graves, won't he?"
"We don't have any better leads about where the Horcruxes may be," Draco sighed gloomily, regarding their entire enterprise as what it was: a shot in the dark. If only he'd spent this time in the blue loop on their side. "If Harry has a feeling about that place, then maybe..."
Ron raised a hand to interrupt. "Hey, this RAB person," he said. "You know, the one who stole the real locket? He said in his note he was going to destroy it, didn't he?"
Hermione reached into her endless bag and recovered the fake Horcrux, which still had the note with it. "'I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can'," she read to them.
"Well, what if he did finish it off?" Ron offered.
"Or she," Hermione amended.
"Whichever," said Ron, "It'd be one less for us to do!"
"Don't be lazy, you great Horklump," Draco sighed, and chucked a pillow at their ginger member.
"We're still going to have to try and trace the real locket, aren't we?" said Hermione. "To find out whether or not it's destroyed."
"And once we get hold of it, how do you destroy a Horcrux?" Ron asked, and cut to the heart of it all. Once they got hold of a Horcrux, they really had no idea what they'd even do with it. A weighted silence ensued, as all four of them grappled with their lack of knowledge. Finally, Harry was the first to speak.
"Dumbledore told me that Tom Riddle's diary was one of the Horcruxes," Harry said contemplatively. "I stabbed it with a Basilisk fang, and that killed it."
Draco was silent for all he was worth as they looked around at each other. "Cor," Ron said, "Well, we're just overflowing with Basilisk fangs, aren't we?"
Draco broke his own silence far too quickly, wanting to forestall any bright ideas. "Voldemort has Hogwarts. Any field trips to the Chamber of Secrets would have to go through him. If- if the Basilisk is even still usable like that."
"We'll have to find another way," Harry said resolutely, putting an arm around Draco, only to nearly jump in place when the door banged open.
"Sirius sent me to-" Luna began, only to stop at the sight of all of the piled books. "What's all this?" She picked up Moste Dark Blood Rituals of the Demon Goddess Hecate, staring at it wonderingly, a book which, after all, she had been the one to retrieve from Severus for them.
"Oh, just a bit of organizing," Hermione said in her brisk lying voice, and Luna's sharp face whirled to stare at her accusingly.
"What are you four up to?" Luna said suspiciously, and a surefire pout extended from her lower lip, at what must be becoming a common experience for her over the past weeks: being left out. "Cousin?"
"Nothing for you to worry about, Luna-Luna," Draco said hastily, and got up to grasp her by the shoulders, the better to divert her attention from Hermione's books.
"I hate it when you say that," Luna sighed, head drooping, and Draco caught her chin with a finger and pushed it up.
"There, there, cousin, I promise you aren't missing anything interesting," Draco cooed falsely, and Luna made a sniffling sound before delivering the explanation of her mission.
"Sirius sent me to get the four of you. He wants you to come and see him. It sounded important," Luna recited, only to sag as she added, "He wouldn't tell me what that was about either."
As it turned out, Sirius had sent for them, but the one who really needed to see them was Arthur Weasley. Mr. Weasley wanted to take them immediately to the Burrow. It would be Harry's first time leaving Xaphan since Hogwarts had been taken.
"I don't like it any better than the rest of you," Sirius said tensely, "But it seems it's got to be done. Someone's got to see the four of you, and he won't leave Arthur alone until he does."
"Has Voldemort been taking a more diplomatic approach?" Draco quipped. "Don't let yourself be sucked in by those dreamy snake eyes."
Mr. Weasley gave Draco a rather severe glare, while Luna hovered at the edges, not even trying to pretend she wasn't listening in. "It's not You-Know-Who waiting for you, Draco," Mr. Weasley said tiredly. "It's the Minister of Magic."
The Burrow was packed head-to-toe with members of the Order, many of whom had already been at Xaphan in preparation for Harry's birthday party. This was a far cry from that. It gave rather the feeling of a much-protected meeting between foreign powers. Mad-Eye Moody, for one, was greeting them so ill-temperedly, it seemed certain some of their number did not approve of this. Leaving the cushioning security of Xaphan for even seconds was too much in some people's book for someone as precious to their cause as Harry Potter. Draco found himself half-inclined to the same opinion, despite knowing how soon they were to departing the safety of Xaphan forever. At the summons of the Minister, fat load of good he had ever done for them.
Scrimgeour was still Scrimgeour, scraggly and wild-enough looking for Luna to still have suspected him a vampire if she had been there to see him, notwithstanding the sunlight that poured into the sitting room where they met. There was only room for three to sit on the sofa, once Scrimgeour took Mr. Weasley's shabby armchair, so Draco elected to stand. That seemed to make Scrimgeour uneasy. As well it should.
The four of them had come as soon as possible, which meant they were all in the summer Muggle clothes they'd been wearing at Xaphan. Scrimgeour was naturally dressed as a wizard, which cast a contrast of authority between them, but Scrimgeour didn't carry himself like he felt it. Draco almost questioned how such a character could have been named Minister of Magic.
"I have some questions for the four of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you three," he pointed at the sofa, "Can wait upstairs, I will start with Mr. Black."
"We're not going anywhere," Harry protested predictably. "You can speak to us together, or not at all."
"I really must insist," Scrimgeour said coldly, long-haired and yellow-eyed and about as amenable to them as he would have been a marauding bunch of Death Eaters wearing anti-Ministry slogans. "With Mr. Black present, I am sure you all understand the necessity."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry blurted, outraged, but Draco held up a hand to forestall his reaction.
"Very well. If my presence is so pernicious, speak to the three of them together, then I'll discuss the will with you alone. Does that suit you?" Scrimgeour was willing to compromise, it turned out, though he didn't exactly look thrilled about it.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Ron hissed to Draco as he made his way out. "Don't let him catch you in any traps."
"Can't. It's not like Dumbledore will have left me anything," Draco whispered back in a friendly tone before departing.
The Order did not look pleased for Draco to have left the room Harry was inside, as if even that small bit more protection could potentially prove vital. Draco didn't know if they expected Scrimgeour to leap on Harry and try to end him, at least non-metaphorically. He settled himself on a settee near the door and wished he could outright eavesdrop, but no Extendable Ears had made the trip with him. Not that he would have had the gall to do so with Severus one of the guards watching. All he could do was wait.
It seemed to stretch on forever, without a book to wait with, and no one on the Order willing to break the tense silence. There was the sound of some raised voices, but they lowered too soon for anyone to feel the need to bust into the room. Draco wished they had gone on longer, to give him the pretext. Finally, though, the other three filed out, none of them looking happy. Harry had in hand something small, Hermione a book, and Ron some device that Draco didn't get a good enough look at to identify. He was called in himself too quickly.
He took a seat on the sofa, facing Scrimgeour down with a coldness to match the man's haughty demeanor, wondering if he was to be quizzed now on the possessions the other three had received. The farthest thing on his mind was the possibility of Dumbledore having left Draco anything in his will.
Scrimgeour cleared his throat. He didn't waste time whatsoever with pleasantries. Either his patience had already been worn to the quick by the other three, or he didn't think Draco worthy of them. He already had out a scroll, which he lifted up for Draco to see. "'The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.' Many of the items here are not executable, since he left so much of what he had at Hogwarts or to Hogwarts. But he had put aside items outside Hogwarts for a few of his students, which came to light after his death."
"I don't know why you wanted to talk to me about this," Draco said, as civilly as he could manage. "None of this has anything to do with me."
"On the contrary, Mr. Black," Scrimgeour said with eyes like a hawk. "You are known as one of the cleverest students at Hogwarts, are you not?"
"There's not a Hogwarts anymore to speak of," Draco said levelly, "But I appreciate the compliment."
Scrimgeour's eyes flared with annoyance, facing Draco down with the unwavering hostility that a man usually reserved only for a known enemy. "You may have some insight, then. Let me read you this portion of the will. 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.' Does it surprise you that Dumbledore would have left Ronald Weasley such a rare and expensive object?"
"No," Draco said honestly. "Why shouldn't he?"
"By reports, Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley were not close. Why, out of so many students Dumbledore taught over the years, would he single out Mr. Weasley for such a gift?"
Draco fought back the urge to roll his eyes. "Because Ron was friends with Harry," he said impatiently, not bothering to hold back part of the truth. It was simple common sense. "And Dumbledore was really fond of Harry, of course, so he gave nice things to Harry and his friends, I'd imagine. Doesn't exactly sound like the most sinister dark act the old bat's ever been accused of." Draco squinted at Scrimgeour, trying to work out what the man was playing at. "I take it he gave things to Harry and Hermione too."
"'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.' Are you familiar with this text?"
Draco shrugged as comfortably as he could make himself appear. "I grew up in the wizarding world, they're fairy tales. I know them. And if you knew Hermione, you wouldn't see much out of the ordinary with deciding to give her a book."
"This book, though," Scrimgeour said ominously. "Is an... odd choice. Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?"
"Are you kidding me?" Draco said incredulously. "You're asking the wrong person. Harry may have been close with Dumbledore, but I wasn't. Not at all. If anything, we didn't see eye to eye, him and I. You'd know better than I would what the old bastard was ever thinking."
"Despite your..." Scrimgeour's upper lip curled in distaste, a quite unattractive sight. "Closeness with Mr. Potter." Scrimgeour's eyes flicked down briefly to Draco's HJP pendant, as if wishing he didn't have to see it.
"Despite the fact that I'm Harry's boyfriend, yeah," Draco said equably, and enjoyed watching how it made that old-fashioned man wince. Not that one could ever tell how much people objected to them because they were two boys, and how much simply because it was Draco. "I haven't exactly been rendered prostrate with mourning by the man's loss, if you catch my drift."
Scrimgeour resumed his scrutiny of the will. "'To Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.' Why do you think Dumbledore would leave Harry this Snitch?"
"Like I said," Draco repeated, starting to get peeved, "I wouldn't know why Dumbledore did anything. You'd be better off asking literally anyone else. Dumbledore would have laughed at the idea that I had any special channel into his thoughts or plans." Draco feared he was laying it on a bit thick, but he couldn't help leaning on the truth.
"You meant nothing to Dumbledore," Scrimgeour echoed, and Draco had the oddest feeling this was one of those traps Ron had warned him about falling into.
"Nothing," Draco agreed.
"Then why," Scrimgeour said, eyes glinting with triumph, "Would he have left you the most valuable item of all of his students? Look here, Mr. Malfoy-"
"It's Black-"
"'To Draco Lupin Black, I leave the Sword of Gryffindor, as a reminder of our edifying chats this past year,'" Scrimgeour read like the cat who'd caught the canary. "Does that sound like a man who held you out of favor?"
Draco might never have been so flummoxed in his life. He couldn't have put on a better show of shock if he tried, jaw unhinging and color flying to his face. "Dumbledore," Draco repeated, to be sure he had understood. "Left me the Sword of Gryffindor. Me."
"Yes," Scrimgeour said firmly, "Despite the fact that, be you Slytherin or Ravenclaw, you are no Gryffindor. Can you account for this?"
"No," Draco said, shaken. "You must be having me on. That's impossible."
"Do you think he meant for you to give it to a Gryffindor friend of yours to wield? Mr. Potter, for instance? Was Mr. Potter the true intended recipient of such a fabulous prize?"
"I don't know," was all Draco could muster. "Maybe he wanted to tell the world I'm a Gryffindor after all. Though it seems the Sorting Hat had chances enough to proclaim that- and really, red and gold do nothing for my complexion-"
"Do you find this amusing, Mr. Black?" Scrimgeour growled. "Because I do not. Why would Dumbledore want Potter to have the Sword of Gryffindor? Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give Potter that sword because he believed, as do many, that he is the one destined to destroy He Who Must Not Be Named?"
"Wow," Draco said. "Crazy theory, much appreciation for that. Except all this speculation is missing something about the Sword of Gryffindor. Where is it?"
"Unfortunately," Scrimgeour said wanly, "That sword was not Dumbledore's to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artifact-"
"Wait, so you're not giving it to me?" Draco exhaled in disbelief. "You're taking it for yourselves?"
"An important historical artifact, and as such, belongs in the protection of the Ministry of Magic, not in the hands of a-"
"Give it to me," Draco interrupted curtly. "Wherever you have it, you have to find it and give it to me!"
"For someone who was not expecting a gift," Scrimgeour observed warily, "You seem very insistent to receive yours."
"Because Dumbledore wanted me to have it!" Draco exclaimed. "Shouldn't that be reason enough?"
"You claimed you hold Dumbledore in contempt-"
"For- I don't know, personal reasons!" Draco exploded. "That doesn't mean he wasn't the head of the opposition to the Dark Lord, you-" Draco only barely managed to hold back the insult on his tongue. All his cleverness seemed to have deserted him in the grips of raw desperation. He knew the side of light got hold of the Sword of Gryffindor. He knew, for one, that Neville Longbottom slayed Nagini with it. "Dumbledore beat Grindelwald. No one knew more about defeating dark wizards than him. So if he thought I needed to have it, then you had better-"
This conversation was falling rapidly out of Draco's control, if it had ever been in it. "You change your tune quickly," Scrimgeour said quietly. "Nonetheless, the fact remains, the Sword of Gryffindor is not mine nor his to give away to anyone-"
"If you have it," Draco said through gritted teeth, "You have to give it to me. Otherwise you're a traitor."
Scrimgeour drew back in his chair, affronted. "What I am is the Minister of Magic," he said fiercely. "Surely you must have forgotten that, to speak to me this way."
"If you go against the final will of Dumbledore," Draco said decisively, "Then you're a traitor. A traitor to the wizarding world. A criminal who might as well throw in his lot with Voldemort, because you-"
"I will not suffer this from a seventeen-year-old!" Scrimgeour shouted. "The Ministry of Magic is doing everything they can to combat-"
"Then do this," Draco said, and saw not a hope of alteration on Scrimgeour's affronted craggy face. "This is how you combat him. Give me what's rightfully mine. Minister, if you think things are going to hold this much longer, you're wrong. Voldemort has taken Hogwarts. How long until he takes the Ministry of Magic?"
Scrimgeour got up and limped towards the door. "I will hear no more of this-"
"Either you'll give in to him," Draco said, with the surety of foreknowledge and his patience all gone, "But I don't think you're the kind of man to do that- or he'll kill you, Minister. He will kill you, no matter how old and important you are, no matter what titles you hold. He'll kill you and do you really want one of the last things you ever did be to have defied the will of Albus Dumbledore?"
Scrimgeour had out his wand then, whirling it and lifting it in Draco's direction. Then he seemed to think better, a note of what almost looked like fear in his aged eyes, before he left the room, slamming the door behind him.